Page 9 of Look What You Made Me Do

“Yup.” Typical that instead of conjuring up some filthy fantasy like sex with a boat load of marauding pirates, her mind had drifted to a dead Greek mathematician. “In my defense, I had been trying to explain it to Cam a couple of hours beforehand. And… Pythagoras was apparently a bit of a hottie.”

Dubiousness quirked Rosie’s eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“It’s true, I’ve seen busts.”

Rosie pressed her lips together. “Uh huh.”

“God.” She shook her head. “What’s the matter with me? If I have to fake another orgasm, I think I’m going to join a convent.” Ella stopped and frowned at Rosie. “Wait… are nuns allowed to masturbate?”

“I would have thought it a prerequisite.”

“Right?”

“Look. Babe.” Rosie eyed Ella over the top of her glass. “It sounds to me like you need hot jock sex again.”

Ella opened her mouth to protest. Hot jock sex was exactly what she didn’t need. What she’d been trying to purge from her system. But hell, at least Jake Prince had made her come three times in forty minutes.

That was three times more than any other man had made her come over the last two years.

And he hadn’t stopped to ask her what she did or didn’t like, he’d just thrown her on the bed and taken charge. Told her what he was going to do to her in the most smutty, explicit terms possible.

Even now her toes curled at the memory.

“I certainly wasn’t thinking about Pythagoras when I was with Jake.”

“I like Jake.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “You’ve never met him.”

“He made you come, right?”

“A lot.”

“Then I like Jake a lot.” Rosie grinned as she raised her glass. “To multiple orgasms.”

Ella clinked her glass against Rosie’s. “Amen.” But honestly, right now, she’d settle for just one.

Throwing back the contents of her glass, Ella was done with this music. “If I have to listen to one more minute of this techno-crap garbage I’m gonna burst a blood vessel.” She stood. “I’ll get us another round and put something decent on.”

Ella groped her way carefully into the darkened environment, more than a little pleased to find the jukebox was in its original position. Even if it was a different model. It was still old fashioned though, reminding her a little of the one in The Rusty Nail, and she felt curiously comforted by its presence.

Maybe the new owner had a heart after all.

As another synthesized musical monstrosity assaulted her ears, she eagerly scanned the list of songs, quickly growing dismayed. All her favorites were gone. All the country hits were gone as was all the great seventies and eighties rock. All the good music was gone!

The antique shell held a cold neon heart.

Instead there was a who’s who of gangster rap, dance music, hip-hop and electronica. The sort of stuff Cam and half the students at her school listened to incessantly, blaring from their ear buds at eardrum-piercing volumes while vaping.

They didn’t even have Taylor Swift.

Ella shuddered. This had to be a joke! After the day she’d had, messing with her jukebox was unforgiveable. The absolute last straw.

Whoever this new owner was, he was about to get a piece of her mind. She could forgive him the neon and the big-screen televisions but the jukebox?

That was going too far.

Jake ignored the rough bite of bricks at his back as he leaned against the alley wall and downed half of his Corona.

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